


Sundays

by SaturnineMartial



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Den and Nor acting like the old married couple they are, Fluff, Fluff Out The Wazoo, M/M, MARITAL BLISS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnineMartial/pseuds/SaturnineMartial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denmark and Norway had been together for far longer than many of the other nations had even known each other, leaving the others to wonder how they made it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sundays

The other nations wondered how Norway and Denmark did it. “It,” of course, being successful marriage after knowing each other for so long. The two had been “together” for longer than many of the other nations had even known each other. Norway and Denmark had been the first of the nations to have a personal romantic marriage. It was common to be frustrated over how two people who were so different could stay together that long.  


They weren’t particularly affectionate towards one another in public, save for the occasion when either of them was absolutely smashed. Norway was an infamously private person, and Denmark had come to respect that. The two almost always came as a pair—“Blonde and Blonder” had become their collective nickname for some unfathomable reason, despite them not being the only couple made up of two blondes.  


When asked how they could stand each other for so long, normally Norway’s reply would be along the lines of “I have no idea, the poor idiot just started following me around one day, and I never had the heart to tell him to stop,” while Denmark’s was “I saw him wearing some awful dress and I followed him around trying to get him to wear proper clothes; and I eventually forgot.”  


The two would constantly poke fun of each other over various things—the way the other dressed (Norway had this “infuriating” habit of wearing obnoxious patterns, while Denmark managed to wear the color red every single day); the way the other spoke his own language (Norway proclaimed that Danish sounded like a drunkard speaking with potatoes in his mouth; Denmark countered by insisting that Norwegian sounded like “Danish, but with a huge stick up your ass”); and even down to their hair (neither of them could make their hair do anything else; Denmark’s hair was untamable, but Norway’s was always sickeningly neat).  


However, when all was said and done, there was a reason why they stayed together.  


Their best moments were doing the quiet hours of Sunday mornings, wrapped up together in a bed in either Copenhagen or Oslo; being nearly two thousand years old does things to a person, so even on the weekends they did not sleep in. Once both were awake, they would often exchange soft, sleepy morning-breath kisses, until there was a resounding ruckus across the house and Denmark would begrudgingly crawl out of bed to go reprimand their cats.  


(“What’s the difference between Oslo and Hell?” Denmark grumbled one frigid morning after shouting at Norway’s huge, hairy feline beast. “Oslo is colder.”)  


Sundays were lazy and quiet. Norway often would read or play his fiddle or piano, while Denmark listened. Norway was an accomplished musician and was often parroted as “the best damn fiddler who ever lived.” Norway himself did not object to this extravagant title; it was probably true, as he had had so much longer than humans to perfect the art.  
Most importantly, Sundays were meant to be spent in each other’s company without anyone else around. No other Nordics, no Danish isles, no other friends. Sundays were for Matthias and Eirik.  


When they had first divulged their private human names, they had been Magnus and Sigurd, respectively. In the modern times, the old, archaic names would occasionally accidentally slip from apologetic but reminiscent lips.  


Norway often sat at the piano (silver band gleaming on his left ring finger) singing a song in his language about how he fell desperately and hopelessly in love with a man who had eyes as blue and as wild as the sky itself. Sometimes he performed it for nation-friends, and they would ask what it was about. But he would never tell; but it was understood that it was a tale of insurmountable love sung by a man who had seen it all.  


Gestures like the song still made Denmark blush a little, especially because of the raw emotion that Norway put into it. Denmark himself wasn’t particularly much of a musician; he would often play piano accompaniment to Norway’s violin. So when Denmark first heard the song, he responded the way he knew best: through a well-thought and impeccably worded letter centered around a man with eyes as blue and as fathomless as the sea itself.  


Sunday evenings, the couple would sometimes find themselves dancing together to silent music. They were so different, but so in sync with each other. They knew each other better than anyone else could ever hope to. And they completed one another. Norway had often been accused of being heartless; but Denmark had turned him into an old sap. Denmark, in turn, was accused of being tactless; Norway had helped him become more thoughtful.  


When nighttime fell and bed time came into sight, the couple would fall into bed while whispered “I love yous” were exchanged repeatedly and kisses grew longer (and a littlemore emotional).

The success of their marriage was a well-kept secret, but if anyone were to look in on their normal, special, loving, quiet Sundays, he or she would find that they undoubtedly loved each other to the ends of the Earth.


End file.
